I was a silent sentinel standing within the swirling vortex of noble men and women, all worrying about a war they wouldn’t have to fight. I couldn’t blame them, though. The last war was rarely spoken about, and when it was, it was called “The Fracturing”, not that imaginative a name, really. The old Kingdom of Lerezhia had broken apart as five factions were suddenly at each other's throats. I don't remember what caused the tiff, but it led to them separating into smaller states, which might have been best for everyone's feelings at the time, but it also weakened us to the point we could only just about guard our borders from the big bastard lizards.

  So it begged the question, what the hell was Cemfyllen playing at?

  “Quiet down, please.” King Perek said, gently holding up his blood-stained hand. The room fell into silence, every powdered noble, every shining guard, and me. Just waiting for what the King would have to say, this was history in the making right here.

  “I know not why Stallivindium has chosen to do away with the long peace every man, woman and child has prospered under for the last few hundred years,” he paused, a solemn picture of grief spreading over his face. He looked genuinely hurt, or he was one of the Mummer’s best.

  “But I will not stand by idly while those we thought friends stab us in our backs. For are we not proud sons and daughters of Avandun?” he stepped forward, holding out his hands, one clean, one bloody, as he stoked people's feelings. He had the gift of speaking, and that was no mistake. I was pretty sure he could have asked that Lindwyrm to fuck off nicely, and it probably would have done. There were murmurs of agreement coming from the crowd as they grew in confidence, as the shock of the king himself striking someone down began to fade away.

  “For the first time in centuries, mankind fights against itself. As such, it is with a heavy heart that I lift the sanctions binding in place on the use of the outlawed swords for those in our military beyond my own personal guard.” He looked pointedly in my direction as he said it, as did his glinting metal-clad guards who stood vigil around the room.

  One of them, a captain judging by the large feather plume that jutted out of his head like an attention-seeking sapling, was clearly sizing me up. He eyed me hungrily. If only women looked at me the same way. I shot him a grin, holding his gaze. He wouldn’t intimidate me; these toy soldiers spent their entire time by their king’s side, desperate to prove themselves as real fighters. They didn’t man the walls, and I knew for a fact none of them could Steelweave. Only I could now, ever since Peevan had passed. He didn’t tell me about the other masters or their fates, but I assume that if they were out there, they were doing a much better job of hiding than I had.

  That could change as war breaks out. As kingdoms put their energy toward killing other humans, rather than Wyrms and Dragons, people would flock to that most famous of man-killing weapons again. People might pay a pretty glinted piece or two to learn from an outlawed Steelweaver. If any were out there, they may emerge from hiding.

  I reckoned it would put a target on their back, or a Wyvern on their face. Life was hard enough without that bother. Trust me.

  King Perek snapped me out of my inner thoughts when he started weeping. It felt forced, like the sort of cry a child does when they’re trying to get an extra coin from you. I could tell because his eyes hadn’t softened in the way they do when someone is truly heartbroken. I've seen that too many times.

  “Avandun must prepare for a war most terrible, my friends, my countrymen, my family...” King Perek’s voice trailed off as he held the back of his hand to his eyes and sighed dramatically.

  I take back what I said about liking him before; he was a manipulative dick.

  An older noble, Duke Bogue, identifiable by a frankly ridiculous, large white moustache, shook as he walked forward to kneel before the king with all the haste of a tortoise with only one good leg. As his knee touched the floor, he bowed his head.

  “My lord King, such a travesty, such an insult that the vile Cemfyllians should treat you thus. We are at your disposal. Avandun will reign supreme in your dutiful charge”

  I was half tempted to fetch Bogue a mug of wine so he could wash the taste of Perek’s arse from his tongue, but instead said and did nothing. I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t look stupid. Unless your name is Peevan, Ulther or Jillegh, and two of them are dead. Bastards.

  King Perek offered Bogue his arm and helped the old goat to his feet before drawing him into an embrace. I noted that the king didn’t have the courtesy to not smear the blood of the messenger on the back of Bogue’s cloak.

  Naturally, the sycophantic attendants, lords and ladies of the court, erupted into applause. King Perek stood there soaking up the adoration like the overgrown toddler he was, while the body of the messenger lay in a still expanding pool of blood.

  At this point, I just joined in with the applause. I didn’t know what else to do, and the plumed captain was still watching me. No doubt he was keen for some sign I was suddenly a threat, so he could cut me down and strut about telling people he’d killed the last true blademaster. So I clapped as I thought of my goal to die of old age in a warm bed. So far, so good.

  I’d never felt so bloody awkward in a crowd full of cheering people before. Usually, I was in a crowd at a tavern, which is a different affair entirely. I was absolutely the lowest-class person here, and the mark of that bloody wyvern on my face kicked me down the pecking order even further.

  Although I mustn’t forget, I was now allowed to buy my own property, which was nice, even though I had a better chance of sprouting wings and taking to the skies. String Guard weren’t paid much, and the indentured less so.

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  Then a breathless, red-faced man with no hair burst through the doors, shrieking while the jowls of his face shook with his exertion.

  “Sire! A blue flare of Zellund was sighted from the eastern wall!” He cried out, every word causing him to wheeze slightly. The entire room turned to stare at the intruder, and there was a sudden shift in attention from the captain.

  King Perek looked put out. He curled his fingers into a fist and held it by his side, “A blue flare of Zellund, you say? What a…development.”

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Fortunately, Captain Plume was still looking at the messenger, so he didn’t see. It was clear to me that King Perek had no clue what the blue flare meant. It couldn’t hurt to help your monarch save face and showcase your own valuable expertise at the same time, could it?

  “A blue flare? They’re under attack from a Wyrm, possibly the same one that dared sully our walls; they call for aid!” I called out, side-eying Perek to gauge his reaction to my unsolicited addition to the conversation. He just looked at me, a slight smile on his lips. Looks like I’d played that just right.

  “Tullen Fal Barraz, your insights on this particular Wyrm would be highly advantageous for my personal guard. You will join them as they venture to aid our allies.”

  By the rot of the Godbody, if I had my old blade on me, I’d have tried to take that smile off his face. There was no way I wanted to fight that bloody thing again, but neither did I want to hang from the outer walls. Instead, I was the lapdog he wanted me to be.

  “I live to serve Avandun, my King,” I said, as if I were some noble hero from the stories rather than a bloody-handed man killer.

  King Perek clapped his hands together; he didn’t send any droplets of blood flying from them because he’d managed to wipe most of it on Duke Bogue’s back. I smirked as I watched the old Duke’s aides stand behind him awkwardly as they noticed the stain. That’d be a fun conversation for them later.

  “The Zellish have not crossed us, unlike the traitorous Cemfyllians. Zellund has always been a friend to Avandun. Therefore, I shall send out my elite personal guard, along with my personal Magi Gertha and the Black Wyvern, to slay this threat! Our brothers and sisters have nothing to fear! My guard shall return with the Lindwyrm’s head!” Perek raised his hands aloft in the air to a near-deafening applause and shouts of approval from the baying mob of nobles. The gilded sod sure loved the sound of his own voice.

  He inclined his head toward the plumed captain who made a circular motion with his fist in the air. Some of the other guards, those with strips of gold on their shoulders, gathered around him. He pointed toward me and beckoned. I obeyed and walked through the cheering mob, bowing to the king as I passed him before standing to attention in front of the captain. He lifted his visor, revealing the face of a man in his mid-thirties with a neutral expression on his face.

  “Tullen Fal Barraz, I am Captain Nimmond. While you are under my charge, you will follow my orders exactly, and I, in turn, will do my best to ensure you return alive.”

  I was pleasantly surprised; there wasn’t a note of disdain or arrogance in his voice at all.

  “I’ll do as I’m told, sir,” I said, being fully willing to as long as his decisions weren’t likely to get me killed or just completely stupid.

  Captain Nimmond nodded. “Glad to have you along with us, Tullen. I’ll take every brave man I can get.”

  “And what about brave women?” a voice asked. There was a telltale clink of a coin hitting against teeth that marked it as a voice belonging to a fizzmouth. A not-so-nice word for Magi, given they had to have something metal in their mouth that fizzled away when they channelled their strange powers. The mighty ones, or at least those with enough riches, had wands of precious metals strapped across their bodies in bandoliers that they’d stick in their mouths like smokesticks. The ones that were indentured, like this one, had to make do with coins and other metal scraps their masters allowed them.

  The voice belonged to an older woman, perhaps in her fifties or sixties. You could never really tell, though. Magic made people age strangely. She had short, grey, clipped hair, in a style similar to my own, with a well-defined face. She had an authoritative bearing and eyes that flitted between each of us, I imagined it’s how my own looked when I was readying to fight. I immediately liked her.

  Captain Nimmond smiled and inclined his head toward her, “There is no woman braver than Gertha, of that I have no doubt. I am glad to have you at our side.”

  She smiled back at him before looking into my eyes. I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live, because her eyes didn’t immediately flit down to look at the shame marking my face. I liked her even more in that moment.

  “It’s good to meet you, Tullen. I heard you had quite the ordeal with this Wyrm,” she said calmly.

  The memory of how Ulther and the others had died awoke from its slumber, seizing my mind. In that moment, I was wrong-footed, but I quickly pushed it down deep.

  “I’d heard there were easier ways to get on the property ladder, just couldn’t find them,” I joked half heartedly.

  She replied with a thin smile, but to Nimmond and the other guards, it was possibly the funniest thing they’d ever heard. The captain clapped me on my back as he shook his head.

  “Property ladders…you’re as funny as you are deadly,” he said, still chuckling, before walking in the direction of the door. The other guards promptly followed.

  I held my arm out in front of Gertha, inviting her to go ahead of me.

  Gertha grabbed my arm and pushed me in front of her. “I’m happier at the rear, lad. What I do isn’t for close range,” she said.

  “Fair enough, as long as you don’t mind watching my back,” I replied

  “Don’t get in my way, you’ll be alright.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Tullen, we won’t have time to grab your gear from the wall, so you’ll borrow some from our armoury. Be quick about it,” Captain Nimmond said.

  I didn’t need telling twice, “Perhaps it might be useful if I borrowed one of the sanctioned swords?” I ventured.

  He shot me a harsh look, like the one he’d first given me when sizing me up.

  “That won’t be happening, you aren’t approved”, he said.

  “Yes, but I’m-” he cut me off by getting in my face.

  “I know what you are, Wyvern, and that is why you won’t be holding a bloody blade! If you wield a sword unsanctioned, that’s your death. Got it?” His voice was controlled, but with a firm promise veiled within.

  “Fine,” I replied, irritated. I was by far the most capable with a blade, and properly armed, I’d be more useful.

  Nimmond’s face immediately melted into his pleasant mask. “Excellent, now go gear up. Bring a spear and plenty of arrows.”

  “Appreciate the guidance,” I said, already fully aware of what war gear I should bring because, unlike these walking, talking decorations. I'd served in a guard that wasn’t ceremonial.

  The guards continued, and Gertha walked past me, suddenly leaning in close.

  “Don’t forget the bow either,” she grinned, her coin clicking with her words before she left to follow Nimmond and the others.

  I snorted and walked in the direction of the armoury, thinking to myself that I could definitely get along with this Fizzmouth.